Hello, Sanctuary peeps!

I'm back from a week's vacation which included some greatly enjoyed quality time with our oldest (20 months) granddaughter. What I'd really like to share, though, is the experience I had the first part of last week.

As most of you know, I've returned to college, taking prerequisite courses in anticipation of entering next January's cohort of a graduate night/weekend program in Occupational Therapy. As student candidates, we are encouraged to spend time "shadowing" a working therapist in a clinical setting to get a feel for the profession - as a matter of fact, the more therapists and different settings (hospital, nursing facility, etc.) we can experience, the better.

So I spent the first half of last week in a pediatric clinic attached to a small town hospital system. Abby, the OT with whom I was volunteering, was amazing to work with - she could use a single activity to help address several needs simultaneously, i.e., balance, gross motor control, emotional regulation, etc. I met some awesome children and their amazing parents. The kids had a variety of conditions - several with different presentments of autism spectrum, cerebral palsy, Aspberger's syndrome, and even a couple with very rare conditions. The parents were very open and generous in allowing me to participate in their kids' sessions.

I followed my instincts as to how much or how little I engaged with each child. As the days passed my confidence grew and I became increasingly comfortable. During one of our many discussions, Abby shared with me that the single most important tool an OT can have in their toolbox is their powers of observation, and that I had it in spades. In her opinion, I am going to make an awesome therapist. Indeed, by my last day there, I was feeling more strongly than ever that this is truly what I was born to do.

While pondering that later, something profound occurred to me. My highly developed powers of observation are a direct product of my dysfunctional upbringing. Survival in an emotionally unstable environment depended on my ability to read subtle cues in body language, vocal inflection and facial expressions. Unfortunately, I then used that information to betray my own identity by modifying my behavior and even my very personality to avoid pain, whether via punishment or abandonment.

Yet here I am, at the threshold of a major career change, and what was once a survival skill in a dysfunctional home is now going to be my greatest asset in providing quality care in helping others make their lives better.

This gives me some new clarity in the big picture view, and a fresh appreciation at how HP can take what could otherwise be a character defect and use it in a new way for a greater good. Wow.